Death By Tennis
by Elf Princess Bloom
Summary: Eiji muses on the downside of teaming up with Fuji on a school project and Momo loses at Mortal Kombat. No pairings because I couldn't make love and decapitation play nice together.


Disclaimer because I forgot to do it last time in all my excitement: some clever babble on why I don't own anything PoT, probably involving my theory on reduced fat Skippy peanut butter

In any case, some points of interest: I am fully prepared for you to point out the OOC-ness. Please do, if you have something constructive to add. I am aware that maybe they don't all have cell phones, and that probably cake would be eaten with chopsticks (or just get inhaled, in Momo's case) rather than a fork. However, fork works better for throwing than chopsticks, and so, nyah. And, lastly, did I spell senpai wrong? Because I've seen it two different ways and am positively baffled. That is all, I think, other than my apologies for it just kind of... dropping off at the end, there.

And no, of course I didn't build this whole thing around my sudden urge to use the term 'flawless victory'...

* * *

The writing assignment should have been simple, really, Eiji mused, doodling on the side of his paper. He supposed if he had to pinpoint the moment it had become complicated, it would have to be agreeing to be partners with Fuji. He should have known. Yes, he should have. Anyone else would have been fine. He could have been writing about trees or the sky or tennis. 

Should haves, would haves and could haves wouldn't help him now, however. He'd delighted at the idea of the lesson, initially. They'd each draw a picture which would prompt their partner to come up with a short story based on their interpretation of the picture. He'd actually been excited, until Fuji had gleefully handed him a picture of two stick figures, side by side, one with it's head _removed_ and on the ground at the other's feet. He'd given Fuji an opportunity to write a very nice story about a cat eating ice cream. This was unfair.

"Okay," He sighed, dramatically. "If I can just come up with a title, it'll go smoothly from there. Let's see."

He stared at the picture again, racking his brain for something, anything. He wrote a couple of words down, experimentally.

'_Why you should never be partners with Fuji'_

"No," he mumbled, drawing a line through it, "That might end with me dyeing."

Pouting, he pulled out his cell phone, wondering who he should call for help. After a bit of deliberation, he chose to text instead, sending a short message of 'I need to write about decapitation, any ideas?' to the entire tennis team, minus Fuji.

Two minutes later, the phone rang. He picked it up, grinning at the sound of his partner's startled voice. "Nya, Oishi, Fuji gave me a picture of a headless man and I have to write a story about it. Yes, for school, I wouldn't ask for help otherwise. No, there is no way I can pretend it's not headless. The head is on the ground, at the other guy's feet."

Once they'd successfully come to the conclusion that there was no way around using violence to explain it, Oishi had opted to back out and wash his hands of the psychotic assignment, wishing his friend the very best of luck.

Eiji was, once again, at a standstill. He turned the picture sideways, hoping for different insight. He supposed if he squinted it could be taken as a man bowling at a disfigured, leafless tree, but that wouldn't make a very good story. Suddenly his phone began to beep. Thankful for the distraction, he set his pencil down carefully and looked at it. A text message from Echizen, reading, 'write about me beating the monkey king at tennis.'

Eiji rolled his eyes, dialing the number. "Fuji does not want a story about you playing tennis, Ochibi."

A loud sigh from the other end.

"For one thing, it's _my_ story, if it's going to involve tennis, I'm going to be the one winning."

Laughter.

"What are you implying, that I can't behead Atobe with tennis? You don't know that, we've never had the opportunity to play! You're being rude and useless, and I've got another call, so I'm hanging up now."

He'd hung up in time to receive a voicemail, from Inui, suggesting he research the subject and write a report, and that Medieval torture might be a good place to start. Sighing heavily, he leaned back in his chair and began ticking numbers off on his fingers, debating who else was likely to respond and who might just ignore him completely.

He normally wouldn't have bothered sending it to Kaidoh or Tezuka, but desperate times called for bothering people who really didn't care at 11:30 at night. Or ever. But Momo should have called by now.

Eiji sat up straighter in his chair, worry furrowing his brow. Clearly something bad had to have happened to the boy because he loved his senpai too much to ignore his plea for help. He dialed the number hurriedly, listening in frustration to the consistent ringing and eventual urging of the answering machine for him to leave a message.

"Don't worry Momo, I'm coming to save you! If you're being kidnaped, leave a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow! Or candy," He added, as an afterthought, "Candy would be good, too."

Momentarily forgetting about the homework, he pulled a dark colored hoodie over his head and snuck stealthily out of the house. He knew he was overreacting, in fact, his current mission - if you could call it that - was merely procrastination. After all, the most possible danger Momo could suffer would be choking on something he'd tried to swallow whole (which wouldn't be the first time). Being the one to have perfected dislodging things like half a burger, entire rolls of sushi, and the occasional gumball, Eiji was sure his assistance would be appreciated.

As luck would have it, the kitchen window of the Momoshiro residence was fully illuminated, standing out brightly in contrast to the otherwise dark house. Taking a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, he sidled over to the window, slipping between the bushes that lined the front of the house.

Momo had fallen asleep at the kitchen table, a fork with a bite of cake on it lay forgotten several inches from his mouth, absorbing the puddle of drool that was slowly forming. Eiji tapped on the window, trying to gain the other's attention. The action elicited a loud snore but otherwise had no effect and so, with a heavy sigh, he silently pushed the window open and climbed inside.

A loud rapping had not been enough to wake the comatose boy, but apparently falling into the trash can right beneath the window was.

Momo awoke with a start, throwing his fork in the general direction of the noise and striking Eiji in the knee as he ungracefully tried to climb out of the trash can. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Momo spoke, wiping the trail of drool off his chin.

"Senpai... it's late, why are you in my trash can?"

"I need help-"

"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that."

"No, I mean, _I'm stuck_."

"Oh."

Momo yanked the smaller boy up, sending the contents of the trash can flying into a great heap on the floor.

"I thought you were being kidnaped, because you didn't answer the phone," Eiji clarified, once he'd delicately plucked the remains of a peanut butter sandwich off his bum.

"Ah, sorry. I don't bring my cellphone into the kitchen because I don't like to be bothered when I'm eating, it puts me in a bad mood."

"You have a very disturbing relationship with food, did you know that?"

"I'm a growing boy, it's a very serious matter!"

"Right. Anyway, I sent you a message but I guess you didn't get it. I needed help with a writing assignment. It's kind of violent, and with all those bloody video games you're always playing I was hoping you could help."

Help, as it turned out, involved playing said video games into the wee hours of the morning. Eiji left that night with a great feeling of accomplishment, having thoroughly kicked Momo's ass in Mortal Kombat three times in a row, one of which ending in a flawless victory.

He now felt confident that he was in the violent, Fuji sort of mind set to complete the assignment.

* * *

Eiji was so proud of his story that he was only amused as he watched the teacher read it, looking more and more disturbed as she neared the end . Fuji, who had already read it, was positively beaming as he tried to persuade her not to call both their parents, the nobility of the cause somewhat dimmed by the unnerving chuckle that escaped his lips at the mention of his favorite part - a tennis ball smashing into the head of 'The Monkey King' with enough speed to crush his skull and completely separate head from body. 


End file.
